‘Thanks,’ I answered. ‘Sounds like a bit of a tomboy!’
‘She certainly was then,’ Alison answered fondly.
‘What height and weight is she?’ Amelia asked.
‘Five feet five inches, and I’d say about nine and a half stone.’
‘Given the other two girls’ availability, when can you arrange for us to see the apartment?’
‘Hopefully tomorrow. I am sure they wouldn’t mind. Perhaps around midday? I’ll call them now, should I?’
‘We would require some form of advance…’ I added, a little uncomfortably.
‘Yes, I fully understand,’ Alison agreed.
We sat, somewhat embarrassed, as Alison makes the call in business-like fashion, and then proceeded to write out a cheque. It was agreed that we would meet at the apartment in Chorlton-cum-Hardy the next day at twelve thirty. Alison thanked us and left, looking much relieved.
‘Bloody hell! Where do we start?’ Amelia exclaimed.
‘Obvious, at the apartment, tomorrow.’
Shortly afterwards, we closed the door on Enodo for the night. It was a murky evening with a constant drizzle as we made our way along St Petersgate and over the busy A6 road to Stockport rail station. I felt obliged to accompany Amelia on the longer and slower journey by stopping train to Crewe. Bidding her goodnight at her station, I spent the rest of the journey mulling over canal routes, and the missing Tina.
Chapter 11
It was mid-afternoon on Friday at Greater Manchester Police headquarters on the north side of the city. Chief Inspector Bill Lambert had returned from a week’s golfing holiday in the Algarve. Sporting a light tan, he was in a relaxed mood as he readied himself for a briefing on the murder case by Detective Sergeant Maurice Evans and Detective Constable Sammy Wang.
‘Well, tell me all that’s happened since I’ve been away.’ Lambert looked at his underlings expectantly.
Wang looked to Evans as the senior. Evans looked back at Wang, whose eyes were firmly fixed on his shoes.
‘Boss,’ he began, ‘we haven’t really got any further. It’s that time of year and everyone is away on holiday, like yourself, isn’t that right, Sammy?’
‘Ahem, yes, that’s correct. Very quiet around town. People gone off to find some sunshine.’
Lambert’s relaxed mood immediately disappeared, and the two colleagues visibly shrank into their plastic chairs under his withering gaze. ‘You’ve got jack shit?’ he thundered, eyeballs popping. ‘That’s pathetic! Surely you must have talked to someone? What about that drummer – what’s his name? – in that band?’
Wang almost held his hand up to speak, like a schoolboy. ‘Ah! Yes, sir, Streetsound. We did speak to him. His name’s Matt Neville, and with a bit of… err, persuasion, he coughed up the name of a dealer from Ordsall, in Salford – Lenny Mack – but when we went around, no one answered. The neighbour said he was away for a week in Majorca.’
Lambert sighed. ‘Why didn’t you say so before? Any previous convictions? What’s he like?’
Evans took up the story. ‘Nothing on record. Typical hard-man dealer, not been here long according to the neighbour. Originally from Liverpool, of Irish descent.’
‘You better get around there again, see if he’s back from his holiday, and bring him in,’ Lambert finished.
The two relieved policemen rose and left. Lambert remained in situ, deliberating on the information just received. It was obvious that Matt Neville had been buying drugs from someone for quite some time, but maybe it hadn’t always been from Lenny Mack.
Evans and Wang and two uniformed officers headed off to Ordsall to pick up Lenny Mack. The house was a relatively new-build semi on a small housing estate, built to replace the old rows of terraced houses. It boasted half a dozen solar panels on the roof. Located off Ordsall Lane, the area was within walking distance of what was the old Salford docks, but had been redeveloped into the posh Salford Quays. Although side by side, the difference in status was apparent.
The officers’ unmarked Vauxhall Insignia glided to a stop outside the house and the two detectives strode up to the door, ignoring the twitching curtains of the adjoining property. A sharp rap on the door was answered quickly by a young girl in her mid-teens. She wore a flimsy cropped top, coloured braces illuminating her teeth and several wristbands on each arm.
The accent in her speech was thick. ‘What ya want?’
‘We’ve come to see Mr Lenny Mack,’ Evans advised.
‘He’s not in,’ the girl answered, as she grabbed the collar of a snarling Staffordshire bull terrier barrelling towards them from the back of the house.
Evans and Wang involuntarily took a step back. ‘And you are…?’ Wang enquired.
‘Saffron,’ she pouted.
‘When will Mr Mack be back?’
‘Don’t know,’ she said.
‘Are you his daughter?’
‘He’s my uncle,’ the girl replied.
Just then a black Astra roared up the close and parked behind the police car. A slim young man stepped out carrying a brown McDonald’s takeaway bag. Wearing low-slung jeans and a white vest emphasising his tattooed arms and neck, he swaggered up the drive. ‘These bothering you, babe?’
‘And you are…?’ Evans asked.
‘Boyfriend,’ the girl answered.
‘When did you say Mr, Mack would be returning?’ Evans tried.
‘Next weekend, he said,’ the boyfriend answered.
‘Do you always speak for each other?’ Wang enquired disapprovingly.
‘Always.’ The pair sniggered in unison.
‘We’ll be back,’ Evans said, turning back to the car.
Evans looked back as they drove away, to see the pair still grinning. The dog could still be heard barking. As they drove back to the GMP HQ, the chat was about whether the nod from Matt the drummer was enough to have obtained a search warrant, and whether one could be obtained before returning. A check with Lambert was in order.
Lambert was unimpressed. ‘I think we need a bit more than the say-so of this Matt fellow. He doesn’t sound the most honest of individuals, by all accounts. See what happens after next weekend when you go around again, although if he’s been away it’s unlikely that any stuff will have been left in the house, especially if he has only recently moved here. Have you had a word with the Liverpool police yet? See what they have got to say about him?’
‘We’ll get right on to it,’ Evans confirmed.
Chapter 12
It was Saturday morning and I was due to pick up Amelia at eleven o’clock for the journey into Manchester to have a look around Tina’s apartment. With an hour or so to spare, I checked the pigs and chickens, and washed my pampered Saab.
It was bright and sunny, and when I arrive at Amelia’s house she is sitting out front in a garden chair soaking up the sun. ‘Thought I’d make the most of it! Didn’t get to my martial arts class last night, so I’ve already been for a run,’ she announced self-righteously, getting into the car.
‘Impressive,’ I acknowledged, accelerating down the lane.
As it was the weekend, I decided to chance the motorway routes, which fortunately were moving freely, ending up on the M60 clockwise before pulling off into Chorlton-cum-Hardy. Tina’s mother Alison had agreed to meet us at a local supermarket close by, at noon. Alison was there before us leaning on a new blue Nissan Qashquai, reading a newspaper. The tension was visible, and her eyes betrayed lack of sleep. There was no spare parking outside the property, so we had to walk the short distance to the house. The building was a large Victorian house split into apartments, on a street of similar dwellings. The parking was indeed a nightmare, with little room to walk on the pavements or navigate a vehicle down the middle of the road. However, the neighbourhood was relatively upmarket, and all the properties appeared in good repair. We climbed the stairs to the first floor. Before Alison could ring the bell, the door was opened by a small Asian girl with spectacles.
‘Please come in
,’ she invited in a London accent, with the most beguiling smile. Walking into the living room, she added, ‘I am Susie and,’ gesturing toward a young lady with long brown hair, ‘this is Mel.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Mel said, in a strong Geordie accent.
Alison completed the introductions, after which we were shown briefly around the apartment and Tina’s bedroom. The décor was bland and looking tired, as could be expected in most student accommodation. We returned to the living room to be seated on a large sofa improved by a throw and vivid red cushions, while the two girls sat in dated flat-pack armchairs enhanced by similar red cushions. Mel advised that she was in her second year studying politics, whilst Susie said she was a first-year medical student. On first impressions, both looked to have made the right choice for their future careers.
Alison had said little since the first introduction. It was now time to begin the real discussion.
‘Have either of you spoken to Tina in the last two weeks?’ I asked.
‘No,’ they replied in unison.
‘No communication at all? Text messages? WhatsApp, maybe?’ Amelia suggested.
‘Nothing at all’ Mel shook her head.
‘No, honestly,’ Susie interjected. ‘She didn’t even show in the pub early Friday evening straight after finishing lectures at university. That’s a normal ritual for us. I don’t think she’s ever missed it before.’
‘That’s right,’ Mel confirmed.
‘Where and what time was the very last time you saw her?’ I probed.
‘It was about two weeks ago, here at the flat on the 5th – Thursday evening at about seven thirty,’ Mel stated decisively.
‘She said she was going out and would see us later,’ Susie added. ‘We assumed she was popping out to the shops for something.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend? Anyone in particular,’ Amelia asked.
‘She was very popular. She went out with quite a few men, but no one serious,’ Mel replied.
‘How long did you leave it before raising the alarm?’ I asked.
Mel glanced over at Susie, before replying, ‘the following Tuesday. We thought she may have gone home for the weekend or something and forgot to tell us.’
‘Wouldn’t she have told you on the Thursday when she came back from shopping, assuming she did come back?’ I queried.
‘We’d gone to the pub and didn’t get back until eleven o’clock. It was only in the morning we realised she wasn’t there,’ Susie answered.
‘Was she in the habit of staying out all night?’ Amelia posed.
Mel glanced at Alison. ‘I wouldn’t say in the habit. Occasionally, but she would usually tell us beforehand.’
‘So, it was on the Thursday you advised Alison?’ Amelia enquired.
‘That’s correct. We thought we had better check at home first,’ Susie said.
‘That’s when I informed the police,’ Alison interjected, looking tearful.
‘What did you think of the police reaction?’ I asked.
Mel answered this one. ‘We were upset. They said she was an adult and that there were lots of missing persons, inferring that she might well turn up unharmed having gone on holiday with a boyfriend or something.’
Alison was beginning to wilt, struggling to keep her emotions under control. It was time to leave. We had another look in Tina’s bedroom, both making notes to study and share back at the Enodo office. Both Mel and Susie appeared concerned when I advised that we might need to return to ask further questions. I wondered why, and made a mental note.
We walked in silence back to the supermarket car park. Bidding farewell, Alison asked, ‘Will you be able to do a better job than the police?’
‘We can devote all our efforts to the case, while the police have dozens or even hundreds of missing persons reported to them in addition to solving all other crimes,’ I answered. ‘I will speak to my contact at GMP headquarters and see what they know and if we can raise the profile.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Alison responded gratefully.
Before we went, Amelia asked, ‘Did you bring any more photographs with you?’
‘Oh! Yes.’ Digging in her bag, she handed over two recent snapshots. One was in jeans and chef’s apron, obviously at a family barbecue, the other more formal and in more sober dress. It looked like it could have been taken at a funeral, but no explanation was given.
We got in to our car, but as Alison drove away, I held back. Nodding toward the supermarket, I said, ‘Wait a moment. While we’re here we might as well do some spade work,’
‘We can only try,’ Amelia agreed. ‘Did you think they looked worried when you said we would be coming back?’
‘Yes, I noticed that too.’
The supermarket was a local type, and not that big. The girl on at the check-out was reluctant to talk to two strangers, and called her manager. I flashed my business card and explained that all we were interested in was if Tina had been a regular shopper, and when she had last been in the shop. The manager frowned for a moment, but didn’t recognise the photo and called over to a middle-aged lady who she said was on the till most days. She ambled over and the manager explained the missing person situation to her. Amelia showed her a photo and her reaction was instant recognition.
‘Oh! Sure, yes, I remember her. Lovely girl, very pretty, auburn hair. She’s a regular, in here most days, often with two other girls. They’re all very nice. I’ve seen the other two in here recently, but not that one for a while now. Oh dear… nothing has happened to her, has it?’
‘We hope not, but that’s what we’re trying to find out.’ I thanked her and the manager before leaving the shop.
‘At least that confirms the time line,’ said Amelia as we drove away.
We drove back to South Cheshire, discussing the possible whereabouts of Tina, where I dropped Amelia off at her cottage. We would resume our discussion on Monday.
Chapter 13
The stopping train was late arriving at Crewe late on Monday as I made my way home from work, courtesy of an escaped cow on the line. I climbed up the steps to street level and emerged from the station into a dark, dank evening. With no raincoat or brolly to protect me against the drizzle, my clothes become damp in seconds. I crossed the Nantwich Road with other miserable commuters and made for the long-stay car park where my car was parked. I cut a wet lonely figure. The lighting was dim, but my mood improved significantly as I approached the Saab, admiring its contours as it sparkled in the rain. I scarcely registered the white Range Rover and dirty white van, which flanked it on either side. My rising mood was soon to be cruelly crushed.
I was just about to put my key in the lock (no electronic opening on old classics) when I heard the scuff of shoe leather on tarmac. I only had time to make a half-turn when something heavy hit me on the side of the head. I instinctively reacted, flailing my arms like a drunken sailor. I know I must have hit one of my assailants, going by the smacking sound and the ensuing groan, but there were two of them – or was that just double-vision caused by the blow to my head? I still wasn’t sure when I hit the wet tarmac of the car park, only semi-conscious. A couple of painful kicks later and I knew it was two men, for each one had grabbed an arm and I was stretched over the bonnet of the car, defenceless. One had a hoodie pulled low to avoid identification, while the other didn’t seem to care. Even through the haze I thought I had seen him somewhere before. It could have been the man from the bar at the Valley Lodge Hotel, who I’d thought was going to bottle me. I began to speak, but received a slap for trying.
‘I warned you last time! Stay away from Jane Nolan. Mr Nolan here is not amused.’ He glanced at the other man, who promptly punched me again, saying, ‘No, I fucking well am not!’
‘This is a final warning,’ the first man intoned as they pummelled me a few more times, before kindly allowing me to slump down in a heap on the tarmac.
‘Next time it’s broken bones or worse!’ he hissed, as he drew a finger across his thr
oat.
They moved off and I lay stunned, unable to move for what seemed like an eternity, but must have only been a few minutes. I remained motionless as a voice asked, ‘You had a fall, mate. Let me help you up.’
I looked up to see a huge Asian man with a turban. I was immediately fearful, but need not have worried, for the hi-vis jacket confirmed him to be the car park attendant. I was helpless and a deadweight, but he was obviously very strong. Groaning and struggling to stand, I just stared at him.
‘Bloody hell, me duck, somebody don’t like you!’ he exclaimed in a Stoke-on Trent dialect. ‘I did see two blokes running off back there, but thought they was just checking out the cars, which lucky for you is why I came straight over. I think we better call the police and maybe an ambulance.’
The thought of so much of fuss revived me. ‘No, just give me a minute and I’ll be fine.’
‘I don’t think you should be driving until you’ve been checked over. Do you think you can make it back to the British Rail Transport Police office on the main road back there?’
I reluctantly agreed and we crept back across the car park to the building on Pedley Street, across from the station. They were quite concerned, and after I’d had a reviving cup of tea and a biscuit, took a statement. I soon got the feeling they were more concerned about the reputation of their secure car park than my well-being.
‘Just as well our attendant here was on his metal,’ the scribe said, glancing over at my rescuer. ‘And that he’s a weightlifter. Scared them off, he did, before they could put you in hospital.’
‘That’s really helpful,’ I answered, finishing my tea. Getting up from the chair, I wobbled slightly.
‘You good to drive?’ the scribe asked.
‘Yes, the tea and biscuit has worked a treat,’ I lied.
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